


Imagine: You don't love the typical nonsense of celebrating birthdays; this is a fact Castiel ignores because he loves you.

by webcricket



Series: Castiel Imagines [66]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Birthday Fluff, Fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-08
Updated: 2019-12-08
Packaged: 2021-02-25 20:54:44
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 698
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21711796
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/webcricket/pseuds/webcricket
Relationships: Castiel (Supernatural)/You
Series: Castiel Imagines [66]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/916281
Kudos: 38





	Imagine: You don't love the typical nonsense of celebrating birthdays; this is a fact Castiel ignores because he loves you.

The low rumble of your name, like summer thunder speaking of a distant storm, sweeps your ears and dances electrically across your skin; you stop mid-stride and turn to greet the angel so sweetly compelling your attention. Upon perceiving his urgent pace, the beige of his trench billowed in haste, a soft smile arising from the pure font of affection overflowing your heart springs to your lips.

“Hey, Cas-” you move to meet him half-way, dive headlong at his torso, and toss your arms around his neck to demand a hug- “didn’t expect you back today. Sam said you guys needed a few more days.” You mumble your surprise into the lapels of his coat, “M’glad you’re here.”

He acquiesces to the embrace; winding his limbs at your waist and his wings at your back - an ethereal feathery presence you can feel but not see - he pulls you to him and lifts you to the tips of your toes and nearly off your feet in his returned enthusiasm. “Me too,” he murmurs into your hair, breath hot where it hits your scalp, “Sam and Dean do need a few more days, but they don’t need me and I didn’t want to miss your birthday.”

Whining in remonstrance, you wiggle enough room between your bodies to ensure he sees your scowl. You’d warned him not to do anything, not to make a big deal out of a day that exists like any other ordinary day. You prefer to look at life in small scale miracles - it was enough for you simply to have survived another day, never mind a year; and besides that, you have not only everything you need, but more than you dared ever hope for in an angel’s devotion.

“I know what you said.” He brushes an unruly tendril of hair behind your ear and anchors his palm warmly to your cheek. “I also know that you are special, and birthday or not I wanted to make sure you feel how special you are today - I sometimes forget to say it.”

His earnest explanation dissolves your disapproval. “You say it all the time.”

“Do I?” He tilts his head thoughtfully, as if he has no knowledge of the extent of his sentimentality or the fact that not 10 minutes ago he’d texted you a red heart emoji followed by the letter ‘U.’

“Like a broken record stuck on ‘I love you-’” your laugh reaches your eyes and penetrates his heart with joy- “Not that I’m complaining!” On a deeper level you believe he says he loves you so much because, through the white noise of self-doubt that so often swells to drown him, he needs to hear it repeated back by someone who means it that he is also loved.

His handsome aspect goes fuzzy in fondness around the edges; the chronically down-turned corners of his mouth curve cheerfully upward. “Well how about today I show you?”

“What did you have in mind?” Your teeth tease the end of his nose with a nip; lips pursing, you soothe the reflexively scrunched feature with a kiss.

“Chocolate cake and your favorite take out?” He proposes, the scratchy pitch of his voice pinched in rapidly cadenced question so that you might overlook the detail about there being cake.

“Birthday cake, really?” You huff, not truly opposed to the frosted confection but wanting to keep up birthday protest appearances because Castiel has a pretty fantastic knack for making errs in his judgement up to you.

“It’s not a birthday cake,” he corrects, “I asked the baker to inscribe it ‘Happy Saturday.’”

He did listen after all, although he bent the rules which a rebel is always wont to do. You wonder how you got so lucky. “Cas?” you ask for his undivided attention in an awe lightened whisper.

“Yes?” His focus shifts solely to you; the backlit blue shine of his irises and your reflection held in the inky centers of his pupils tells you nothing and no one else in creation matters to him in this moment.

“I love you,” you say.

His lashes lower as he lets the breathed emotion of those welcome words wash over him.


End file.
